


You Should've Seen The Other Guy

by ghostship (dopeycat)



Category: Blur, Britpop - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Swearing, Underage Drinking, kinda fluff????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6525400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dopeycat/pseuds/ghostship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon find's himself in Graham's bedroom, beat up, drunk and asking if his friend can lend him a hand with his situation</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Should've Seen The Other Guy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Gramon fic I've ever written lmao. Feel free to point out mistakes so i can fix them.
> 
> Title taken from lyrics of Dark Times by The Weeknd feat. Ed Sheeran.
> 
> Feedback would be nice :)

The screech of the window slowly opening made Graham wake with a small start. Eyes wide open, bottom lip between his teeth, he wouldn't dare move now, thankful to be facing away from the intruder, hoping that they couldn’t see him shaking under his duvet.

The grunts and bangs of the person struggling to fit through the window made him frown a little — Graham himself could have done a better job intruding than this fucking prat, Jesus Christ.

A loud bang followed promptly by a familiar angry “fuck,” made Graham’s tenseness ease, slowly rolling over and eyes falling upon a slightly blurry silhouette that could have been none other than his best friend. The dark haired boy sat up and flicked his bedside lamp on, squinting at the sudden brightness he rubbed his eyes before placing his thick rimmed spectacles on his nose, furrowing his brow and looking back up at the boy next to his bed.

“What the bloody hell are you-?” Graham squinted before noticing Damon’s swollen cheek, busted lip and black eye — the drying remnants of a bloody nose still upon his upper lip and smeared across his not-swollen cheek. More dry gore sprayed all over his face and shirt, and caked on his knuckles. Graham was quite sure that blood didn't belong to the blond boy.

“Day, what happened to you?” He quickly threw the sheets off himself and jumped up, gingerly grabbing the sides of Damon’s head and inspecting his facial wounds. It was a stupid question with an obvious answer, but Graham still felt the need to ask.

“’S not important, can ya help me get cleaned up?” Damon tried to avoid eye contact, flinching when Graham ran a thumb over his swollen cheek, a quick apology escaping the guitarist’s lips, removing his hands from the boys head and resting them on his shoulders instead.

 The smell of alcohol on the older boy’s breath was salient as he spoke. He’d previously been at a party that Graham wasn’t allowed to go to and Damon had told Graham that it would be no fun without him and that he wouldn’t go.

 He went anyway.

Graham knew he would go anyway. He always did, and for one reason or another, Damon had always found himself in Graham’s bedroom the next morning, whether it’d be in bed with him or passed out on the floor.

So, really, Graham should have anticipated this, but maybe, in the back of his mind he had hoped that this time Damon would keep his word and not go or at least go and not wander to Graham’s house drunk, high or both at unearthly hours of the morning.

Graham shook his head, looking down at the blood mottled all over Damon’s once completely white shirt. “You’ve been drinking,” he sighed, Damon shrugged, the red glow on his cheeks intensifying. Graham looked back up, wishing Damon would look him in the eye. He exhaled sharply once again, “I’m not stupid, ya know?” He removed his hands from his friends shoulders, “you’ve gotten into a fight, haven’t you?”

Damon cringed a little at Graham’s disappointed face, his drunk mind deciding that it’d be best to avoid his best friend’s question. He coughed uncomfortably and seated himself down on the bed, rubbing the eye that wasn’t bruised. “You got any fags?” he asked.

Graham groaned. “You can’t just show up at my house all beaten up and then expect me not to ask questions, Damon. If my parents were home and caught you here at this hour they’d think I’d snuck out with you. You’ve got to stop this.” Graham’s parents had gone to stay with some old friends that had just moved back to London after fifteen years. They had threatened Graham that if they found out he disobeyed their instructions and went to any parties while they’d been gone they would ban him from hanging out with Damon.

The blue-eyed boy hadn’t even been keeping track of the time. Glancing at the digital clock that sat on Graham’s bedside table. Nearly two o'clock in the morning.

He had shown up at later times before - or earlier; however you’d like to look at it. Just last month he’d shown up at Graham’s house at around four in the morning, very drunk and higher than a kite. How he’d even managed to find his house let alone scale it to get to his bedroom was beyond Graham. Damon had come in sobbing, sliding into bed with the dark haired boy, wrapping his arms around him and embracing him tightly, whimpering whispers of apologies over and over between feather light kisses upon his neck and small squeezes of his hand while the younger boy reassured the intoxicated boy that he forgave him. Graham had never found out what he was apologising for, Damon seeming to forget the whole affair the next day, or choosing to ignore it.

As for the inebriate affection, Graham had started to get used to it, this happened a lot when Damon was intoxicated - although Damon’s tenderness affected Graham more than he’d care to admit.

The blond would never bring up anything about what happened during the nights the next day. Even after waking up in each other’s arms countless times, Damon would still say nothing, only maybe a quick goodbye and giving the brown-eyed boy a quick peck on the cheek if he was very lucky. It was worse at school and parties though, Damon wouldn’t even touch Graham if people were around, if their hands would even so much as brush against each other in the presence of their peers Damon would jerk away, looking around to make sure no one saw. This hurt Graham more than he led on, but he understood, he wasn’t oblivious to what they said behind his back, he knew the rumours about the two boys, he knew they called them ‘Gaymon’ and ‘Coxuck’ but Graham had never understood why this got to Damon so much.

The drunk boy sat in silence staring sheepishly at the ground. He felt too ashamed to speak and looked as if he was about to cry.

The brown haired boy huffed, making his friend glance up. Walking across the room to a chest of draws he slid open the top drawer and rifled through it, finding the small box of Marlboro’s and a green lighter he’d been hiding from his mum and placing them next to Damon on the bed before leaving the room. Damon disregarded the fact that he hadn’t even give him the chance to thank him and plucked a cigarette from its red and white packaging, situating it between his lips and forgetting about the wound that rested where he’d placed the stick, wincing and quickly removing it from his mouth before biting down on his lip as if it would help with the pain. He moaned lowly as he felt liquid dribble down his chin, spotting his shirt in fresh blood, he cupped a hand to catch it, watching it form a tiny puddle in his hand and feeling the warm solution about to slip through his fingers as he tried his best to not drip any on Graham’s sheets.

Graham walked back in the room, two wet cloths in one hand and a box of Band-Aids in the other, immediately rushing to Damon’s assistance after seeing the situation he’d gotten himself into, plopping down next to him on the bed. He took the cigarette that was still in the blue eyed boy’s other hand, making him look a little worried and placed it back in the box, putting it and the box of Band-Aids on the bedside table and holding out the small towel for the boy to take to clean his hands with which he obliged thankfully to. “I promise you can 'ave one after, alright?”

Damon nodded, making eye contact with Graham for basically the first time tonight, Graham could tell his friend was getting tired now, his blue orbs now hooded and dazed, his blinks became slow as did his movements.

“Thank you,” he murmured, placing the bloody towelette in close proximity in case anything else started bleeding.

“This might sting a little, just squeeze my hand when it hurts, 'kay?” Damon nodded again resting his hand on top of the other boy’s, the corners of Graham’s mouth tugging into a smile before nodding too and starting to dab the wound on his lip. It had been a cold night so the cloth being warm was the only pleasant thing about this situation. Damon gripped his friends hand, taking a deep breath and shutting his eye and trying to ignore the stinging sensation all over his face as Graham cleaned his injuries.

When done with his medical work, the brown-eyed boy sighed in relief as Damon finally unclenching his hand from his, white knuckles fading. Graham tilted his head and inspected his friend's face, making sure he didn’t miss anything. “You been bleedin’ anywhere else?”

“Dunno if it's bleeding, but m’ back hurts. Can ya take a look at it, can’t really see for myself.” Graham rolled his eyes at his comment as Damon cracked a grin.

The blond twisted his body and lifted up his shirt, no blood, only bruising. What had these people done to him? What had he done to them?

“You’re just bruised, nothing to be worried about,” Graham smiled reassuringly, his friend pulling his shirt back down and untwisting his body back to a comfortable position. The brunet cleared his throat before he spoke. “I’m, uh, still waitin’ for the story 'bout what happened,” he raised an eyebrow, watching as Damon grimaced and shook his head, softly resting it in his hands.

“It’s really not all that interesting,” the tired boy protested, shaking his head again.

The sober teen crossed his arms, shrugging. “Don’t care. I like the sound of your voice anyway.”

The befuddled boy tried to hide his hot growing cheeks, too tired and drunk to object to his friend again. He groaned loudly, “Alright, fine.”

Graham perked intently, placing the bloody, damp cloth on the floor before resting his hands in his lap.

Damon sighed. “There were these guys, I dunno if they go to our school or not but that don’t really matter much,” he rubbed his eye, yawning, triggering Graham to yawn too, speaking again, “I’d heard 'em sayin’ shit 'bout me for a while but I didn’t really care all that much, nothin’ that I hadn’t already heard about m'self before,” he took a deep breath, exhaling loudly, “then they started talkin’ shit 'bout you.” He looked up, “can I have that fag now?”

“Damon!” Graham groaned.

“Please, I’ll keep going, just, _please_.”

The look in his friend’s eyes made him succumb to his request. The younger boy handed him the cigarette, his friend being wary of where he placed it between his lips. Damon looked relieved as he picked up the lighter and flicked his thumb over the little wheel to ignite it, Graham watching as he covered the flame and lit the cigarette, shaking the lighter to stop the flame and in-taking the lovely burning feeling in the back of his throat, blowing out the vapour and watching it swirl up towards the roof.

Graham started to feel hot watching the boy, he shook his head before anymore thoughts came through his mind, adjusting himself a little and clearing his throat. “What were they saying 'bout me?”

“They were sayin’ you were a faggot and a loser and that you’re only friends with me 'cause you know I’m the only one who’ll ever fuck you,” Damon took a deep drag from the cigarette, frowning. “So I went over to 'em and told 'em to take it back, I fuckin' knew all they wanted was a reaction and I gave 'em what they wanted.” He placed the cigarette between his lips again for another long intake before he ran his fingers through his hair, groaning, “I’m a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Well…” Graham quipped, receiving a playful punch from the boy next to him. The thought that his best friend got hurt because of him made the brunet feel a little sick, a dull presence of guilt in his stomach; this, however became overweighed by the contradicting feeling of fondness towards the fact that his friend had stood up for him like that.

“Anyway… one of 'em goes 'aww he’s standing up for his boyfriend’ and I,” Damon’s cheeks were as red as the blood stains on his shirt, looking down and scrunching his face.

“And you…?” Graham gestured for him to continue.

“And I…” A quick, nervous puff of the cigarette, “I-I said, out of everything I could 'ave said, I chose to go with: 'fuckin’ right I am, what’s it to you?’” He looked and felt as if he we’re going to faint from embarrassment. Graham smiled a little to himself, looking away to hide his flushed cheeks. “Then they all started to chant 'faggot’ and, and I couldn’t control myself, I just- I just tackled one of them and kept punching and punching and everyone just stood in shock 'til someone pulled me off the guy and started hittin’ me back,” he swallowed hard. It was as if what he’d just said had put him off the cigarette. Putting it out on the damp cloth, throwing the butt in the bin next to the bedside table, throwing the towel to the floor and hearing a gross splat noise as it hit the ground. “Barely remember the rest, only their bloody faces, my bloody fist and trying to find your house. Took me ages to get here.”

“The party was like twelve houses down the street, you tit,” Graham chuckled, scrunching his nose and shaking his head at the boy.

“Yeah, well, twelve houses is a hell of a long walk when you’re drunk and visually impaired, twat.” Damon pushed his friend playfully and chuckled before resting his head sleepily on his best friend’s shoulder.

Graham yawned and affectionately patted the top of the dirty-blond’s head, feeling his eyelids get heavy. “’D you wanna hop into bed, love?”

The brunet received a somnolent nod against his shoulder, the two boys languidly made their way to their feet preparatory to Graham holding back the blankets for Damon to crawl under, drowsily following him once he had moved over enough. Both lay facing each other in content silence for a little, the blue eyed boy studying his friends brown doe-eyes, Graham doing the same, mostly focused on the purpled skin around one eye.

It was Damon who killed the silence.

“Face the other way,” he had spoken as if he were asking a question.

Graham, too tired to contend, followed the boys wishes, rolling over and looking out the window, disappointed to see that the stars had been swallowed up by night time fog and that the owl that usually sat happily on the branch in his line of view was nowhere in sight.

A sudden warmth against his body and an arm wrapping around him made him smile uncontrollably, scrunching his nose in embarrassment.

Graham spoke after a brief stillness. “Ev'ryone thinks we’re dating now.” He didn’t really say it to Damon, mostly just trying to make his exhausted mind process what the boy cuddling him had told everyone.

He felt Damon’s warm breath tickle his neck as he exhaled slowly. “Yep,” he murmured, walking his fingers from the boy’s stomach to rest his hand on his friend’s hip, giving it a small squeeze.

Graham’s body grew hot, cheeks especially, he swallowed the lump in his throat after a silence that had been longer in his head and choked out a “do you, uh, wanna start, uh, dating?” He buried his face in the duvet, scared to hear the other boy’s answer. This question was a little silly to ask someone who was drunk and super tired, but they say drunk words are sober thoughts so maybe the brown-eyed boy had a slight chance.

Damon grinned, cheeks flushed. Running a tender hand under his friend’s shirt and softly placing a few wet, weary kisses on his neck, pulling him closer. Graham was relieved when Damon finally answered.

“That would be amazing,” he breathed light-heartedly.

Graham had considered the possibility that maybe Damon would choose to forget all about this event as soon as the morning came, when Graham’s alarm buzzed at 6:30am and Damon had to leave to walk home and get ready for school, maybe he wouldn’t say goodbye, maybe he'd tell him that what he said last night wasn’t true, maybe Damon would leave him all alone at school in fear of being bullied or maybe both of them would get beaten up tomorrow; that was tomorrow though. Graham just wanted to live in the now, where his best friend and now boyfriend’s warm, steady breath grazed his skin and made him feel hot all over, encased in his arms while he watched as the foggy night started to clear itself and a small owl swoop down, landing on a branch and hooting, it’s tranquil gaze cast upon the bedroom in curiosity.

This gave the younger boy a feeling in his stomach that this time it was different and maybe, just maybe, both boys would be content to loving each other, no matter how many people spoke behind their backs or called them names that they'd already heard tens of thousands of times before, and maybe this made Graham smile a little more than he'd ever care to admit.


End file.
